


Communion

by shealynn88



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Biblical References, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-06 02:05:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18841417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shealynn88/pseuds/shealynn88
Summary: He’s not greedy.  Just this moment.  Forever promises to be Hell, so why not just this single moment of something pure and true and base and human?





	Communion

There are days he thinks he can’t bear it. Won’t. Not anymore. That Hell can have him. That booze can. That he’ll just climb into a bottle and never come out the other side. But he will, because Sam needs him. Because the world does. Because people have followed him and died, because they’ve followed him and lived. Because they’ve inspired him and pushed him and he owes them that.

But he never expected this. This small secret oasis, this quiet that pulls Hell from his mind, that ever present sick feeling of guilt and horror and pain that just lives in him, constantly, like a record that plays and repeats and repeats and skips until he’s nauseated and weak.

But this. Jesus. 

“Hello, Dean.”

“Cas.”

Fingers in his hair, pulling and pressing, not jerking, just relentlessly pressing his head back and exposing his throat. He should be afraid. The angel could kill him with a thought, a blade, a jerk. But there’s something about the inevitability of it, the strength and the lack of choice that lets him stop fighting, and it’s a strange feeling. He’s not sure when he was last allowed that release.

Can’t worry about Sam or the world or the next person who’s going to die on his watch because strength greater than his own has taken over, has made his wishes, his needs, inconsequential. And he never knew the freedom that could grant until this moment.

Lips against his throat, teeth against his pulse, and a bite could end him. A twist of a fist could break him.

“ _Dean,_ ” and the sound is rough and needy and full.

Fingers at the hem of his shirt, sliding under. Long and soft and God, so good, so sensitive, so _much_ against his stomach, the line of his ribs, the sharp ridge of his spine.

“Jesus,” he says, and there’s a low chuckle against his chest. 

“Guess again,” and lips again, and should any creature of the Lord know how to do this, how to take him apart this way, so carnal, so base, so _biblical_?

He has too much control. Scrabbling against long messy hair and stubbled jawline and suddenly caught between blunt teeth, and then, blessedly, taken away with a hand around his wrist, pressing him back and pinning him against a wall. Not his choice. Fuck, finally, not his choice to make.

“Cas,” he breathes, and it’s a prayer, and a plea, and it’s all he can say, and he hopes the angel understands. _Don’t stop. Please, don’t ever stop._

“Mine,” Cas whispers. Against his sternum, his rib (is that the one he was supposed to give to Eve?), his navel. His cock, hard as iron pressed against his jeans. Has he ever wanted anything this much? Salvation? Family? Peace?

Never.

Never as much as he wants this. He’s not greedy. Just this moment. Forever promises to be Hell, so why not just this single moment of something pure and true and base and human?

Why not this?

“ _Please_ ,” he breathes, and he doesn’t know what he’s asking for, but Cas does, because Cas always knows. Cas, who knows his body better than he does, who probably built his cock from atoms and knows what makes it tick, what makes Dean tick, what makes him moan and plead and lose his mind.

“I’ve got you,” Cas whispers, sliding down a zipper, lips sliding against flesh and then Dean is suddenly present and in another galaxy. 

Warmth and wet and heat and pleasure and whatever fucking joy the world has to offer is condensed in Cas’s mouth on Dean’s cock and Jesus fuck, whatever this is...it’s beyond what he’s ever hoped for or thought to want, or even knew existed. He’d wanted not to die at thirty-two at the sharp end of a monster’s teeth, and now he’s somehow managed to gain access to Heaven sideways, via the mouth of another monster, tongue working against that sensitive spot on the underside of his dick, making the world spark and bleach and become something new.

“ _Fuck_ , Cas,” he whispers, freed from that iron grasp long enough to touch mussed hair, sharp bones of a face that is Cas and used to be someone else.

“Dean,” those lips shape. “ _Dean._ ” Again, like a prayer, like something they should be on their knees for.

And Dean is on his knees and praying with his mouth, Cas’s fist in his hair, cock on his tongue, and this is the kind of prayer he can get behind, just the two of them against the whole god-damned world, spilling salt and prayer and whispers into the dark as if someone might hear them and lift them and bring them back to something more.

But it really doesn’t matter does it? Because God isn’t here but they are, and the dark makes everything possible, and their names in each other’s mouths are holy.

“Cas,” he breathes again.

“Dean.” 

They taste each other and take communion together, salt and earth and humanity looming large and heavy, and it’s a holy respite before it all begins again - the war and the killing, the opposition and the pain.

And in between, each other.

_“Cas?”_

_“I’m here, Dean.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Come see me over on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/shealynn88).
> 
> Similar Destiel Stories:  
> [Love is Not a Victory March](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19095856) Rated T: _This love blasts in on razor wings, hauls him out of Hell, scars him out of the gate, tells him he’s nothing. Tells him he’s everything._  
> [Are We Human](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18606427) Rated G: _“I wanted you to see it the way I do,” Cas says in a hushed tone. “I wanted you to feel human, too.”_


End file.
